Eminem, Prayer, and the MRI: Finding Unity in Chaos

Most of you know me by now. I cannot just do something without a story. Life’s moments open windows to bigger questions. One of my jobs as a writer, and as a thinking human is to invite reflection.

I had a brain MRI last friday night. Scans are done at night in Israel, even on the Sabbath, to keep this scarce resource running 24/7.

You may be lucky enough never to have a brain scan. The MRI, a brilliant invention, works by zapping our insides with strong magnets to create detailed images of our anatomy.

Prior to the procedure all jewelry is removed, including good luck charms, toe rings and bangles, due to their possible magnetism. These can become lethal projectiles if overlooked. Even after multiple checks, the fear of missing a hidden piercing lingers. This may sound like no big deal but it is actually confronting, stripping off the armor.

The jewelry I took off

The cold metal of the gurney presses against the skin as they slide me in. The claustrophobic cage holds the body tight. A panic button is tucked in one hand, and an IV is embedded in the other. I am instructed not to move. The rhythmic thudding begins - an onslaught of metallic pulses that pound against my head like a jackhammer. After all these years the MRI still sounds like a construction site. I start to worry about the machine. Everything in this country seems so carelessly put together, maybe the scanner is screwed up too. Startup Nation cannot even seem to produce a usable zip lock bag.

Sano bags with zipper from Super Pharm

The machine’s loud tapping and buzzing fill the room, so they offer headphones and music. I asked for Eminem because I love him and he is my go-to for every scan. The technician nodded approvingly - “great taste in music.” The rap started and Slim Shady made me smile. The hardest part? Resisting the urge to dance.

The patient before me announced that she recited Shema Yisrael 50 times in the scanner for good luck. I had not thought about the Shema for decades. It is a simple prayer:

Hear O Israel, the Lord is our God, the Lord is One.

The Shema appears in the Old and New Testaments, even quoted by Jesus in two gospels. It is recited by religious Jews twice a day. Secular Jews may recite it when they are in peril. There are accounts of non-religious Jews saying the Shema as they were led into the gas chambers in the Holocaust. Survivors of October 7th in Israel recall people saying the Shema in desperation.

When I was a kid, we spent school breaks in Hallandale, Florida. Like all good Jews of that generation, my grandparents had an apartment there. We loved it: the weather, shenanigans, and of course the Rascal House.

You’ll be glad when you’re fed you “rascal” you!

Sometimes we made the trip in our station wagon, but other times we flew. I still remember landing in the middle of a tropical storm—violent turbulence shaking the plane.

I do not have many clear memories of my mom, but I do remember this: her gripping our hands tightly and reciting the Shema as the plane lurched. She was not observant at all, yet in that moment, she prayed. That memory stayed with me.

As soon as that patient mentioned the Shema, I knew I had to say it too. Lying in the MRI scanner, I alternated between Shema Yisrael and Slim Shady, my mind flickering between the sacred and the profane. Then the self-criticism of Dr. Anna crept in—was I saying enough? Was I doing it right? The relentless inner voice, my old companion, insisting that if I wanted this to work, I had to get it all in. I started to sweat.

But then I caught myself. No judgment—just awareness. Whatever we do or do not do may have no bearing on the final outcome. When I let go of the pressure, something shifted. The music and the prayer no longer felt like opposing forces. They merged into something unified.

Connecting with my mom—the depth of that memory—was an unexpected gift. It was like one of those unseen helpers my shaman has spoken of. Every day, every experience holds secrets waiting to be discovered. We just have to pay attention.

Until next time,

Dr. Anna 🌸🎗️